


Bagginshield Advent

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Thorin Oakenshield, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bilbo is So Done, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Erebor Reclaimed, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Khuzdul, King Thorin, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Protective Thorin, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Slash, Thorin Feels, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, Thorin is a Softie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills for the Advent Calendar on tumblr. One-shots and drabbles revolving around Thorin and Bilbo's relationship. Tags will be added as I go along.</p><p>Ch. 1 - the cold forces Bilbo to wear dwarvish attire, something the King finds greatly alluring.<br/>Ch. 2 - Bilbo and Thorin meet online; their relationship quickly progresses.<br/>Ch. 3 - Thorin tries to hide his favourite snack from Bilbo, who claims it's "not real food."<br/>Ch. 4 - Bilbo comforts Thorin, as the King struggles with night terrors.<br/>Ch. 5 - In spite of his mortal wounds, Thorin survived the battle... but he seemed strangely changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just A Bit Chilled

**Author's Note:**

> AUIDEAS on Tumblr is having an Advent Calendar, where they will post a prompt every odd day of December. Hopefully I will be able to fill all, which means I will be updating every 2-4 four days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: For Character A, life can be a bit chilled. With a lower than normal body temperature, they will use anything to try and warm up. When in a public place, they can’t hold themself together and continuously inch towards a stranger, Character B, as they are certainly a needed source of heat.
> 
> I strayed from the original prompt a bit, but, oh, well! :)

Thorin had always run a little hot – both physically and with his temper. Bilbo had just assumed the former was a personal quirk; there was certainly no reason to complain, especially when he had a personal heater to curl up against on chilly nights.

But now he was beginning to suspect that _all_ dwarves had a high body temperature, and for one very good reason:

Mountains were _cold._

Now hobbits lived underground as well, of course; a similarity between the races. But a cozy, wooden smial was much different from an enormous kingdom carved out of stone. Hobbit homes were encased in solid earth, creating natural warmth. The only trouble was the winter months, and all one need do is curl up beside a roaring fire to solve that problem.

Of course there were fires in Erebor…but they were confined to one’s private chambers. And it was hard to find excuses to stay home all day, when one was the consort of a rebuilding nation.

Bilbo also wondered if this was the reason dwarves insisted on so many layers. The idea no longer seemed so ridiculous, the hobbit had to admit. In fact, one of Thorin’s courting gifts had been a fur-lined coat from a wolf killed by the King himself. Like all the other strange, dwarvish courting gifts Bilbo had received, the hobbit had smiled and thanked the King, while inwardly rolling his eyes and wondering what he was meant to _do_ with it.

Along with other possessions from Bag End, chests of Bilbo’s clothing – perfect for a (once) respectful gentlehobbit such as himself – had arrived at the dwarven kingdom a few weeks prior. Thorin had, predictably, been difficult about this turn of events. Apparently, he had quite enjoyed Bilbo walking around in dwarvish clothing…perhaps a little _too much_ , in Bilbo’s opinion. But now with the chill of winter approaching, Bilbo feared he had no choice but to don the thick, woolly layers.

With a resigned huff, the hobbit began pulling on the clothes. Loose trousers than went far too close to his ankles – he had had quite the fit, convincing the seamstress to hem them higher! Next came a shapeless tunic, billowing sleeves falling all the way to his wrists. Bilbo itched to throw a waistcoat on top, add some respectability to this ill-fitting get-up, but he knew it would get lost under the layers. The surcoat was a dark blue, befitting Durin royalty. Around his waist went a thick leather belt; Bilbo fumbled with the heavy metal latches for a moment before putting it together. The weight above his hips was foreign indeed, pressing gently on his stomach. Bilbo paused a moment, hand skimming along his midsection –

“Nope,” he muttered to himself. It would take a few months of eating seven regular meals a day to get back to his proper, pre-Quest plumpness. None of this silly, starving three daily meals.

At last came the cloak. The heavy material was dyed a deep, maroon red, meant to match the precious jacket that now lay in tatters. The fur lining wrapped around his neck, impossibly soft against his skin. The colour, a beautiful, snowy white, was a stark contrast against the dwarves’ propensity for dark colours.

Clothed for the day at last, Bilbo left the royal chambers with a sigh, shooting one last wistful glance at the flickering flames.

 

Thorin had departed early that morning, once again leaving Bilbo to oversleep. The King claimed it was hard to wake Bilbo up when the hobbit looked so peaceful…and if he did this _one more time_ , the only times he would ever see his husband look peaceful again would be when Bilbo was, in fact, unconscious.

It was with an already annoyed scowl that Bilbo pushed the heavy stone doors to the meeting chamber open. Guild members and politicians stood and turned to the consort, giving a respectful bow. Bilbo waved them off, stomping towards his husband. Thorin seemed not to heed the angry look on Bilbo’s face, striding towards the hobbit at once, slack jawed as he gave the consort a far-too-thorough look over.

“Bilbo,” he greeted as he approached. “It gladdens my heart to see you wearing my gift.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed as he craned his neck, fixing Thorin with a scathing glare. “I almost fear you keep this bloody mountain so cold on purpose,” he hissed, “Just to see me wear this ridiculous outfit! Not to mention, you failed to wake me _again_ thi-”

“You are cold, ghivashel?” Thorin interrupted, concern pulling at his features.

“Of course I’m cold!” Bilbo sniped, waving his arms around. “I’m surrounded by stone, and _it’s winter_!”

“Amrâlimê,” Thorin entreated, grasping Bilbo’s small hands in his large ones and rubbing them to warmth. “Why did you not say so sooner?”

Bilbo snorted, though he did not remove himself from the King’s gentle hold. “Well, why do you think I’m practically wrapped around you every night?”

Thorin’s head bowed as he stepped closer, murmuring, “Forgive me, âzyungâl, for thinking my husband may crave intimacy.”

Bilbo huffed, ignoring the heat suddenly warming his cheeks. Instead he raised a brow, continuing to stare at Thorin apathetically.

“If there is anything your heart desires, ghivashel, let it be known,” the King swore passionately. “I will have a fire lit in every corner of the kingdom, if only you should ask.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, now.” Bilbo rolled his eyes, knowing Thorin would hold onto such a promise; such a dramatic, love-struck dwarf really should not be in charge of an enitre kingdom. “It’s hard to stay mad at you,” Bilbo continued, mumbling, as though it was hard to admit defeat at any louder of a pitch. “When you’re so damned _sweet_.”

Reaching on the tips of his feet, Bilbo gave Thorin a chaste kiss to the cheek before pulling away, confidently strolling towards the throne and assuming his position as consort. Everyone became busy all of a sudden, as if they had not all been listening in with bated breath. The husbands exchanged unimpressed glances, quickly getting back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghivashel – treasure of (all) treasure  
> Amrâlimê – my love  
> Âzyungâl – lover


	2. Neighbour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character A and Character B are online friends who have never met in real life, and due to Character B’s overcautious nature, neither of them ever revealed where they lived. One day, while Character B is wasting time at an outdoor mall, they can clearly see Character A sitting inside a coffeeshop just around the corner, smiling at their laptop as they work.

Bilbo had met Thorin online. It started out with a few messages here and there – whenever the other had time. Asking mundane, routine questions about each others lives and talking about their day had started it off. But even through solely online interactions, it seemed the two had chemistry. Short irregular messages soon turned into daily emails. Next phone numbers were exchanged – just for texting, they agreed, when there was no internet.

But soon enough, Bilbo found himself reaching for his phone first thing in the morning. Always he woke with a smile on his face, knowing Thorin would already be up. A message would greet the student, usually a simple _Good morning_ accompanied by a smiling emoticon. Grinning giddily, Bilbo’s fingers would fly across the keyboard as he responded, asking about Thorin’s morning.

They talked morning until night, whenever they could. Pauses were only taken as necessary – but even meetings and lectures could be ignored for a few precious minutes, here and there, for the sake of a quick message.

Text messages became phone calls – and _dear Eru_ , the man’s voice was deep and sultry; oftentimes Bilbo found it hard to hang up! Their first “real” conversation had begun a little awkwardly, but the ice was quickly broken. In fact, Bilbo had had to upgrade his plan to unlimited text _and_ talk!

Thorin’s presence was so strong in Bilbo’s life, he sometimes forgot they had not even met.

In fact, it was something he planned to rectify. It was Bilbo, admittedly, who had held back; after hearing so many stories on the news about _catfish_ , Bilbo had learned to be cautious. The last thing Bilbo needed was to fall hopelessly in love with someone who simply posed behind another’s picture.

Thus, he had requested a Skype video call.

Thorin had agreed readily, which put Bilbo’s mind at ease – for the moment. The other man had requested they wait for Friday night. In truth, it made perfect sense; if things went well, they could talk late into the night without worrying. There was no reason for Bilbo to worry. Yet his stomach twisted and clenched nervously, heart fluttering and palms slick with sweat.

As night approached, Bilbo showered, meticulously scrubbing himself clean. Carefully brushing out his curly hair, he added some gel – not too much, just enough to tame the frizzy mess into submission. His clothes were freshly washed and ironed – a white long-sleeved button-up shirt, tan slacks (the fact the camera only showed his upper body was dutifully ignored), a golden waistcoat with orange flowers patterned all over, and a light blue ascot.

He decided to forego a blazer this time – no need to seem overdressed!

Running his fingers through his hair one more time, Bilbo spritzed on some cologne. Thorin may not be able to smell it, but the fresh scent made Bilbo feel more put-together.

Finally he sat in front of his computer, fingers twiddling nervously as he waited for Thorin’s icon to turn green.

Bilbo was suddenly thankful he had not eaten earlier; his stomach clenched painfully, nausea crawling up Bilbo’s throat. The back of his neck prickled with cold sweat, limbs feeling jittery and stone-heavy at once.

Suddenly Bilbo’s screen beeped: he was getting a video call request from none other than Thorin.

As his mouse hovered over the accept button, Bilbo realized belatedly his nervousness was not born of fearing who he would see on the other side. Even if Thorin turned out to be someone completely different, physically, he already had Bilbo’s affection. The only question was – would Thorin feel the same? When Bilbo clicked that button, would the face he had been aching so long to see light up in mutual excitement and relief, or would he somehow find Bilbo disappointing?

Throat suddenly tightening, Bilbo’s finger slammed on the mouse, clicking _decline_ before he could even think. Shaking, he barely managed to type a quick message – _I’m sorry_ , with no explanation – before slamming his laptop shut.

 

When Bilbo had cooled down the next morning, he sent Thorin a message explaining he was simply nervous, and had backed out unexpectedly at the last moment. Thorin was understanding, though his reply was a bit stiff; Bilbo’s chest clenched with the knowledge that he had disappointed his – friend.

But one cannot hide forever – not even from an online (maybe, perhaps, hopefully) relationship. Later that day, as Bilbo was passing a café on his way to the library, he noticed a familiar face in the window.

Thorin was not someone easily missed in a crowd: long silver-black hair, thick brows, piercing blue eyes, a hawk-like angular nose, and a long, well-kept beard.

Bilbo stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, almost causing a pedestrian to run into him. Without thinking, his feet guided him towards the café entrance, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Thorin hunched towards his computer, eyes narrowed as he typed furiously. The glasses obscuring said eyes, however, were something Bilbo had never seen before. He thought them quite endearing, softening the sharp features of Thorin’s angular face.

 _Could he do this_? Bilbo wondered as he pushed the door open. But as his feet pushed on forwards, determined, Bilbo realized there truly was no way he would ever turn back. Not without _trying_.

Almost too soon, he stood in front of Thorin’s table. The man continued tapping away, oblivious to the nervous, twiddling student in front of him.

Clearing his throat, Bilbo finally greeted, “Thorin?”

The man’s head whipped up, crystal blue eyes wide behind their glass covering.

“Bilbo.”

The voice was just as it had been on the phone – deep, almost rough. Bilbo’s knees shook, his hand reaching out to grip the table as he suddenly felt weak. Thorin stood, looming over Bilbo’s small stature. The man had said he was 6’1, but mere words could not prepare one for his dominating presence. As a smile broke out, Thorin swooped down, long arms enveloping Bilbo in a surprisingly gentle, warm embrace.

“Oh,” Bilbo managed to croak, fingers embedding themselves in Thorin’s shirt.

Even as he pulled away, Thorin stayed close, head bent as though he wished to impart a great secret. “I have longed for this moment,” he confessed, head ducking as a pretty blush spread across his cheeks.

“So have I,” Bilbo said, the words suddenly painful in their truthful earnestness.

Thorin indicated that Bilbo should sit down, the laptop closed without a second glance as the man hailed a server, insisting Bilbo must stay for lunch.

And how could he possibly leave, so soon after finding the man who held his heart?

 

 


	3. Goldfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character A & Character B have known each other for quite a while, but this would be the first time they go grocery shopping together. Among other quirks, Character B has a bit of an unknown obsession with little crunchy, salty cheddar goodness that most people know as Goldfish™. Because Character A doesn’t know about this oddity, they become increasingly confused by Character B’s antics and attempts at sneaking the delectable snack into their cart.

Thorin and Bilbo had moved in together a few weeks ago, and everything was going great. Thorin had no regrets. None at all.

It was just that Bilbo could be rather... fussy.

Bilbo had been in charge of decorating their new apartment, by his own demand. Thorin had been all too happy to allow the man his planning; Thorin’s duty was simply placing boxes where Bilbo pointed. Bilbo had rejected most of his boyfriend’s furniture, which had made moving much easier. All the decorations were his as well, mainly because Thorin had not _had_ decorations of his own.

Bilbo also did all the cooking, which was a huge bonus. Bilbo had been absolutely horrified to learn Thorin ate food that came out of cans or boxes - either ready to eat, or requiring a quick zap in the microwave. Apparently it wasn't "real" food.

If it was edible, it was real, in Thorin's opinion.

Bilbo disagreed. Loudly.

For the most part, Thorin had no problem bending to Bilbo's will. It made his boyfriend happy (and thus made Thorin's life easier), plus Bilbo's cooking was never short of mouth-watering.

But Bilbo's cooking couldn't satisfy all of Thorin's cravings. There was one food, in particular, that the man could not stop yearning for.

A small, perfect yellow-orange, sweet and salty snack.

Now Bilbo did not approve of such "non-food," so whenever Thorin went grocery shopping alone, he would make sure to hide the delicious package before Bilbo returned.

Everything had been going perfectly. Until now.

Today Bilbo had insisted on coming to the grocery store as well. Thorin had a tendency to miss items on the list – mainly because they _did not exist_.

 _Cilantro, rutabaga…eggplant_? Bilbo should at least _try_ to make it sound convincing.

Now they were walking through the supermarket together – he refused to admit that purple-black thing in their cart was some kind of egg vegetable – and Thorin was just a little panicked.

He needed Goldfish. And he couldn't let Bilbo know.

"Thorin?" Bilbo's voice pulled the man from his despairing thoughts. Bilbo's nose was buried in the list, eyebrows pulled together as he carefully read his curved script. "Could you grab us some eggs, please?"

Thorin grunted, immediately stalking off to fulfill the order. This was his chance, his opportunity –

"And make sure you get the organic, free-range, grain-fed, antibiotic-free eggs!" Bilbo called after him, causing the man to sigh and roll his eyes. Reading that label was more work than Thorin was willing to put into this, but perhaps getting the proper eggs for once would put Thorin in Bilbo’s good graces – and he would need that, if all else failed.

On to the plan – he would quickly slip into the aisle and… Well, he couldn't hide the bag in his coat, and there wasn't enough time to go to the checkout and run to the car.

Was there?

No, Thorin quickly decided; it wouldn’t work. The supermarket wasn’t _that_ large, and while Thorin _did_ find the aisles rather hard to navigate, it would be hard to pay for something, take it to the car, and come back, all undetected. He would have to hide the bag under another item, and hope for the best.

Just as Thorin was trudging back to the cart, last minute plans being created and rejected with every step, he received a text from Bilbo: _I forgot lettuce. Please grab some – organic._ _J_

Dutiful boyfriend he was, Thorin put the _organic_ lettuce into the green plastic bag provided, leaving the top open. He could not help a gleeful grin. It just so happened that lettuce was the perfect size to wrap around his orange and white package.

Distracting his boyfriend with the _organic, free range, antibiotic-free, grain-fed_ eggs, Thorin surreptitiously slipped the lettuce-wrapped snack into the cart. Bilbo was none the wiser, and they soon made their way to the checkout.

It was as the bag of lettuce slid closer and closer towards the cashier that Thorin realized he had a serious problem. Unless he could somehow convey that the Goldfish needed to be hidden at all times from Bilbo’s sight using sign language, he was about to be exposed.

As the cashier reached for the bag, it was almost as though time slowed down. Thorin could see Bilbo’s lips moving as he gushed excitedly about tonight’s dinner, but the words became muffled and vague. The lettuce was scanned, leaving the bag of Goldfish naked and bare.

Bilbo’s reaction came in slow, minute detail: his mouth dropped open, smile falling. Brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, lips moving as he silently read the name. The brows scrunched together even tighter, fierce with confusion for but a moment, before his lips pursed and nose twiddled.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said with slow vehemence, as sound and motion filtered back into Thorin’s mind. “Those had better be for Fíli and Kíli.”

“Why?”

Thorin knew better than to ask that. He had no idea why that word forced its way out of his mouth, unless he subconsciously craved an early grave.

Jaw working, Bilbo slowly turned to his boyfriend. The man’s lips were pursed until white, hazel eyes bright and fierce.

“Goldfish crackers are for children,” he hissed. “Are you a child, Thorin?”

“I don’t believe there’s an age limit on the packaging,” Thorin countered.

“Just because there isn’t a bloody age limit on Lucky Charms,” Bilbo growled, “Doesn’t mean adults should eat it for breakfast every morning!”

Thorin’s head ducked down, the man reaching up to scratch the back of his head nervously.

“Oh, for Eru’s – Thorin, you’re thirty-eight years old!”

Head snapping up, Thorin hissed, “What’s wrong with _cereal_?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “It’s not cereal when it’s filled with marshmallows!”

“You add milk, and eat it out of a bowl – that’s cereal!” Thorin argued, hands waving for emphasis.

“Oh, by that logic, anything could be –”

“Sirs?”

Both men turned towards the sudden voice, chests lightly heaving from their (very public) row.

“H-how would you like to pay?”

The woman glanced between them both nervously, looking one step away from calling security.

“Debit,” Thorin grumbled, lightly shouldering his way to the machine. Bilbo began putting away the groceries, grumbling about _disgusting chemical additives_ and _defiling my temple_.


	4. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character A begins to panic when they realize that something about them has changed in the past week and they just feel…wrong. They meet with Character B in a clearly exhausted and disheveled state, asking for their help. Character B agrees wholeheartedly but is taken by surprise when Character A asks them to stay with them overnight to make sure nothing happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have SO many feels for this story, I think (my mind says I *know*) I will expand this into a multi-chapter fic.

When Thorin fell asleep during a meeting, it was the last straw for Bilbo.

It had been obvious the King was quite troubled. For days he had walked around in a daze, eyes half-lidded and movements sluggish. Crystal blue irises were surrounded by blood-shot white, the skin underneath a deep purple-blue. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost sickly. And yet the King refused any attempts at aid. Nothing was wrong, he claimed as he continued to push himself into his work.

So Bilbo would simply have to help without the King’s permission.

 

Thus the Hobbit arrived at the King’s chambers later that night, arms laden with a tray holding a pot of freshly brewed tea. It was not out of the ordinary – often he and the King would share a nice pipe and some tea (or something stronger, on those particularly rough days), talking late into the night. But tonight, as Bilbo sauntered in without preamble, Thorin barely looked up from his desk.

“Thorin!” Bilbo exclaimed as the Dwarf continued to ignore his presence.

Thorin started, looking around dazedly. Finally unfocused eyes landed on the guest, the King’s lips curving up ever so slightly.

“Master Baggins,” he greeted, slowly easing his body up.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, motioning for the King to join him on the couch. They had dropped such formalities in private long ago, but sometimes the Dwarf insisted on using the title; it seemed he only did it when he felt apologetic for something, however.

“I’m having none of this, just so you know,” Bilbo warned as the King finally joined him, sitting closer than usual. Bilbo tried to ignore the heat radiating towards him from the proximity, instead pouring a cup of tea for his companion. “So you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, right now.”

The King’s lips pursed in a grimace. “I know naught of what you speak.”

“Damn it all, Thorin!” Bilbo cursed, unwilling to take another second of Thorin’s lies and avoidances. “You fell asleep at council today! You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

The King’s lips twitched sardonically under his quickly growing beard. “They are rather dull,” he offered.

“You’re worrying everyone,” Bilbo hissed, arms waving.

Thorin stiffened, hands clenching in his lap. He fidgeted, body shifting away. The sudden loss of warmth was nothing compared to the emotional rift that had been gradually growing between them, however.

Bilbo reached a hand out, gently placing it over Thorin’s clenched fist. “You’re worrying me,” he murmured softly. “If it’s the sickness –”

Thorin whipped around, eyes wide with shock. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, words lacking the heat of anger. Instead he sounded oddly broken, voice rasping as if Bilbo’s words had dealt him a physical blow.

“I don’t know what to think,” Bilbo continued, squeezing Thorin’s hand tighter, afraid of the King pulling away further. “I don’t know what to think when you shut me out like this.”

Thorin swallowed thickly, gaze dropping. The fist under Bilbo’s hand loosened, callused fingers spreading to graze against Bilbo’s smooth skin.

“I cannot sleep,” the King confessed finally, as though the idea was revolutionary.

Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes, turning a heavy sigh into a small exhale. Getting information from Thorin was like pulling teeth, sometimes.

“I cannot help you if I don’t know _why_ , Thorin,” he entreated.

Instead of answering, the King reached forward, grabbing a cup of tea. He reached out with his non-dominant hand; the right stayed nestled in his lap, dangerously close to outright holding onto Bilbo’s.

As the King took a sip, his nose wrinkled, quickly gulping down the mouthful as though it were stinging hard liquor. “What is this?” he asked bitterly, glaring at the golden liquid.

“It’s valerian root,” Bilbo explained. “It’s a common sleep aide back home – well, in the Shire.”

At that, Thorin downed the rest of his mug, quickly refilling it. After two fillings the King leaned back, shifting to face his companion once more. The firelight danced along his features, Bilbo’s eyes drawn to the King’s unusually mussed hair. It was quite alarming, in fact, to see Thorin’s hair in such disarray; Dwarves were quite fastidious when it came to such things.

Bilbo reached out, smoothing a hand through the silver-black locks, fingers catching on many a knot.

“When was the last time you brushed this mess?” Bilbo asked, clucking his tongue. When the King didn’t answer, Bilbo’s gaze flitted over. Thorin’s eyes were shut, lips slightly parted. At Bilbo’s stilling, Thorin’s head tilted, nudging the Hobbit’s hand just slightly. Bilbo answered readily, fingers removing one of the King’s beads and unraveling the braid.

Bilbo worked slowly, working out all the knots and kinks. And as he worked, the King shifted closer and closer, all but melting into the Hobbit’s side. Eventually Thorin laid along the couch, head nestled in Bilbo’s lap.

As the treatment went on, Thorin finally began opening up. His voice was thick with sleep, long pauses between each word as though willing his tongue and lips into submission was a great feat.

“In two weeks,” the King began slowly, “It will be the same day my grandfather took us to Moria.”

The Battle of Azanulbizar – Bilbo had heard some things of the great fight, mostly on the Quest, though any further information was accidentally overheard. No Dwarf seemed forthcoming in regards to this particular battle.

“I am plagued by my memories, even when I sleep.”

Thorin reached up, tugging one of Bilbo’s hands away from his head. Placing the hand on his chest, the King enveloped it in both of his.

“I dream of my brother,” he continued slowly. “I do not remember his smile, or his laugh. Nor the terrible trouble he would get us in as children.” Thorin exhaled slowly, brows scrunching as if in pain. “All I can see is his face – twisted and contorted in pain as – as –”

The King broke off with a pained noise, clutching Bilbo’s hand with furious desperation.

“Hey, hey,” Bilbo murmured soothingly, fingers gliding from the crown of Thorin’s head to stroke along his bearded cheeks. He was not sure of what else to do, what else to say. Instead he continued the ministrations, stroking his fingers along Thorin’s features when they crinkled in pain, before moving back to the thick, waved tresses.

“Sometimes it is not Frerin at all,” Thorin continued after a prolonged silence. “It is you, Bilbo.”

As the King’s voice cracked, Bilbo leant forward, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders, wishing he could contort his back enough to press his forehead against his friend’s as he had seen Dwarves do so many times. Instead his head met a blanket of hair, the tresses tickling his nose.

“I’m right here, Thorin,” he murmured, breath warming the King’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” the King repeated brokenly, removing a hand to wrap around the Hobbit’s torso, keeping him close.

“Anywhere,” Bilbo swore.


	5. Thorin the Deathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After Character A once made a deal, they became as immortal as they come, but under a specific condition: in order to remain immortal, they must find an ingenious and original way to kill themself on every new moon without repeating a previous method. If they do accidentally use a previous method, they will be doomed for all eternity.  
> Sure enough, Character B finds a small notebook while they are rummaging through some belongings that has a curiously deadly list scrawled in the handwriting of Character A.

When Thorin had survived his devastating wounds in the battle for his home, no one had thought it was possible he would survive. The healers worked their hardest nevertheless – they would never abandon their King, even when all hope seemed lost. And their efforts had been greatly rewarded: Thorin had been brought back from death’s door.

Bilbo had been greatly relieved – oh, Eru, had he been relieved! But there was something about Thorin… he had changed.

Not that this was a bad thing. In fact, many would say he had changed for the better. Any signs of dragon sickness had been banished. First and foremost, the King was focused on rebuilding his kingdom, even if it meant giving orders from his sickbed. A more than fair portion of gold was given to the Men of Dale, and even Mirkwood’s King was given back his precious jewels. Alliances were quickly being formed, though not everything was smooth going – Thorin was a Dwarf after all, and negotiating with Thranduil (or any Elf, for that matter) did not come easily. But the King under the Mountain was determined to make things work.

Yet something was off; Thorin was too… Well, Bilbo had trouble putting his finger on it. Optimistic? But no, that was quite understandable; he had regained his long lost home, and all of the Company had survived. There was some affable quality, one which seemed quite foreign on the King’s sharp features. He often smirked, eyes glittering as though holding a secret no one else knew.

It seemed this was the new Thorin they would all have to get used to – perhaps the near-death experience had simply changed the Dwarf. But the peculiarities did not end there; in fact, as the new moon approached, the King grew oddly agitated. On the morning of said lunar occurrence, he declared no one was to disturb him.

Now this, in and of itself, was not quite outlandish. The duties of kingship were a great stress, and no one begrudged the King some time to himself. But as the months carried on, so did this strange tradition. Thorin never asked for a day or night off – if he was needed, he would throw himself at the work without a complaint. In fact, Bilbo greatly cherished any alone time he got with the Dwarf, for such moments were few and far between.

The only time Thorin exclusively took off was during the new moon. Any servants mistakenly arriving to help would find his chambers locked tight, and any questioning knocks were dutifully ignored.

Thorin had grown quite jovial, but his humour was also quite sardonic. It was an odd combination, as though he found life contemptuously funny. The haughty attitude was extremely grating on Bilbo’s nerves to no end. As the weeks went on, the Hobbit became determined to find out what was going on. He peppered the King with any and all questions he could think of, careless of his blatant curiosity so long as it meant discovering the truth. But no question, comment, or critique drew a rise from the King.

Except one: the new moon.

When Bilbo first brought the topic up, he thought he had been greatly mistaken, for he had received a good tongue-lashing indeed. But as he marched away, cursing the blasted King in his head (and himself, for being so hopelessly in love with said dolt), he realized he had finally caught on to something.

It was an easy thing, slipping into Thorin’s chambers the night before the new moon. His pockets were laden with soft snacks, baked breads and muffins that would not emit an odour, nor would they make a sound when Bilbo chewed. And so he waited.

But if Bilbo thought he was going to get answers, he was greatly disappointed: when he awoke from his snooze, hidden away, the King was gone.

With a sigh, Bilbo stood, stretching his aching limbs. But instead of leaving, he meandered around the room, examining the King’s possessions. There was one item in particular that drew his eye: a red leather notebook lying open on the desk. Its pages were smothered in ink, and Bilbo found himself sitting down, flipping through the pages.

For what a find, indeed!

Lost in his discovery, Bilbo could only jump in fright as the door slammed open.

“Bilbo!” the King snarled, stomping towards the small Hobbit. Noticing the book clasped tightly in Bilbo’s hand, Thorin’s eyes widened, as he came halting to a stop. “What are you doing with that?” he hissed, fear mixing with anger as he snatched the book away.

“If it’s so secret, perhaps you shouldn’t leave it out for all to see!” Bilbo countered, stung by the King’s accusatory tone.

Thorin’s brow furrowed as he stared at the Hobbit, as if confused by his reaction. “You – you did not read this?” he asked, voice rasping and desperate.

“And how could I?” Bilbo taunted, jutting a finger at the book. “It’s all Khuzdul!”

The King’s features suddenly relaxed, as though Bilbo’s words brought with them great relief.

Just as Bilbo opened his mouth, his curiosity beyond piqued and demanding to be quenched, Thorin spoke. “I have missed you dearly, my friend,” he said, lips curving into a strange shape. “You have grown very dear to me.”

Bilbo’s anger and confusion slowly ebbed away, replaced by nervous excitement. A fresh blush danced across his cheeks, his stomach fluttering as though he were a young lad with his first crush. The book was soon forgotten, Thorin’s strange deeds ignored in favour of the possibility of his affections being returned.


	6. Oakenshield, Ghost Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character A has a drinking problem, but it’s not because they are an alcoholic. Character A is a ghost hunter and the easiest and cheapest place to store a spirit just happens to be in a wine bottle to be recorked and stored in secret - this can lead to some strange looks from the local Liquor Store after piling tens of bottles into their cart on a single night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Forgive the title)

Thorin had known since he was a kid that he could communicate with the dead. He had gone through what he felt were rather normal stages – denial, anger, and finally acceptance. It was rather similar to grieving, in fact.

Ignoring the spirits only seemed to anger them, so Thorin eventually started making contact in private. But some spirits were rather bothersome, and did not wish to wait until the man had finished work or school to make his life miserable.

For many years, he had been at a loss for what to do - it's not like he could simply Google the answers. (Once Google had become popular, of course he had tried, but with little success.)

But as time went on, communicating with the dead actually became rather popular. Instead of screaming "witchcraft" and "devil-worshipping," the general population seemed rather taken with the idea. Shows with mediums and "ghost hunters" had a surge in popularity. After living his life under the radar, Thorin decided to get in with the fad.

It was easy to tell who was real and who was faking, and Thorin soon learned a life-saving tip from a fellow medium: ghosts could be trapped in wine bottles. It was not that the bottles were special; ghosts could be trapped in all sorts of containers, but wine bottles were simply easiest. As the spirit was sucked in, you quickly corked the bottle, and voilà! One trapped spirit and a much quieter evening.

The trick doubled as a way to distinguish fake mediums from ones with real abilities  – if they were said to have a drinking problem, but lacked the obvious characteristics of an alcoholic.

So here Thorin was, at the local liquor store, basket filled with over a dozen bottles, preparing for an upcoming show. One never knew what to expect, after all.

He approached the counter, eyeing the bored-looking cashier. The man looked barely old enough to be here himself, with wide brown eyes, gold curls framing his round cheeks, soft pink lips –

Thorin cleared his throat, placing his basket on the counter rather roughly. He left the cashier to pull out the bottles as he determinedly looked away, praying he had not been caught staring.

"Having a party?" the man asked conversationally.

Thorin's jaw worked as he muttered a terse, "No."

The cashier flushed then, ducking his head as he worried his bottom lip. Thorin could have cursed the man – whether it was an act or no, it was ridiculously alluring.

"For the TV station," Thorin found himself adding for no reason. The cashier looked up, brown eyes wide as he tilted his head curiously. "After the show, I give everyone a bottle as thanks for their hard work."

The cashier - Bilbo, his nametag said - turned towards the cash register, brow furrowed as he typed. But before he could get to the total, he gasped, turning back to the startled customer.

"You're Oakenshield!" Bilbo gasped, eyes dancing excitedly. "Oh, I love you!" The man's jaw dropped as he slapped a hand over his mouth. "I mean, on the telly - I mean, your show! I really, really like your show...as a friend."

In spite of himself, Thorin felt a chuckle bubbling up his throat. He smiled warmly, lips curving into an unusual grin when Bilbo smiled back.

But they lapsed into silence as Thorin paid, grabbing the heavy bags of wine bottles and heading towards the exit. As he went to push the door open with his shoulder, he stopped, gently placing the bottles on the floor before striding back to the desk. Bilbo glanced up, lips twitching as though he wished to smile but was unsure of himself.

"What are you doing Friday morning?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo stammered a moment, finally saying, "Nothing!" The man seemed embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, ducking his head once again.

"Come see the show," Thorin offered. Bilbo grinned boyishly, eyes lighting up once more. "Tell the staff you're a guest of Thorin Thrainson. They'll give you front-row seats."   
"Thank you!" Bilbo gasped, leaning forward across the counter. "Oh, you must let me buy you dinner, then. As a thank you."

Thorin dipped his head in assent, walking away with a grin of his own.


	7. An Accidental Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: In a world where nearly everything has become an advertisement, people have been promoting themselves as a decent human being even more intensely through the use of “Temp-Terminal,” which are posters that advertise the visages of specific people - with the population of the world only rising, simply meeting someone in a coffee shop is practically unheard of.  
> Character A is mostly against the concept, so they abstained from what had become the obligatory wrist band that collected information from the Temp-Terminals throughout the day. However, they regretted every decision they had ever made up to that moment when they saw Character B on one of the screens, only to see them disappear without a trace moments later, just like they always do. In a world such as the one they were living in, everything had become painfully temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a few hours passed the deadline, whoops! :0 But I'm still posting it anyways.......

_What’s wrong with just meeting someone in person_? Thorin vented internally as he passed by the collage of electronic Temp-Terminal ads. It was so impersonal, yet all too intrusive. The ads displayed a person’s name and photograph, along with personal details meant to _allure_ other customers. It was utterly ridiculous and – and…

Thorin’s internal rant stopped abruptly as a face flitted across the screen. The man was almost painfully cute, and _exactly_ Thorin’s type. Gold curls framing round cheeks, sparkling hazels eyes covered by framed glasses, a wide smile revealing an adorable dimple.

Thorin stopped abruptly in the middle of the path, jaw dropping as he stared at the screen. Belatedly he thought to actually read the ad – Bilbo Baggins, male, twenty-nine. He was a novelist, and his personal quote said, _Let’s write a beautiful story together_. Had Thorin not so captivated, he would have snorted at the horrible line. Eyes scanning lower, he locked onto the ID number?. 23986 –

Before he could finish reading, the ad faded away, replaced by another.

“No!” Thorin yelled. Ignoring the stares he received, he stormed towards the screen, daring it to go back to the man – to _Bilbo_. But as he waited, growing more and more late for work, the ad refused to reappear.

 

Bilbo Baggins was not having a good day. Book signings always made him a little aggravated – it was all the annoying people. But today’s signing was the worst by far.

Apparently someone had set Bilbo up with a Temp-Terminal dating ad. Bilbo had no doubt as to who it was – Gandalf, his agent, had been bothering him far too long about meeting someone. But Bilbo was a romantic at heart, and the ads just seemed far too impersonal. It was cliché, and practically obsolete in their day and age, but he wanted to meet someone in person. Have that instant connection, awkwardly flirt and try to wrangle a date. There was just something lost in how people met these days.

But now Bilbo’s book signing was _filled_ with people, not here as fans of his work, but trying to score with him.

 _But I saw your ad_! Almost all of them said when they were turned down, with increasing vehemence. Bilbo was quickly running out of patience. Gandalf would be getting quite the earful when this was all over – and now Bilbo understood why Gandalf was mysteriously busy during his “favourite” client’s signing.

Bilbo ripped open another cover with more aggression than likely necessary, squiggling a quick signature before shoving the book back to the fan. As the woman walked away, Bilbo stretched out his hand, grimacing at the pull of his the cramping muscles.

“Next,” he grumbled when a book didn’t magically appear under his nose. When he was only met with silence, the novelist looked up, foolishly hoping the line had somehow disappeared. But no. It was just another one of _them_ – the people responding to the ad that _Bilbo didn’t even ask for_.

“Uh, hi,” the man murmured, awkwardly tugging at his beard.

Bilbo had seen many people today, but this man, by far, was the most attractive. He loomed over the table, incredibly tall with a large frame and broad shoulders. Yet he seemed rather shy, head ducked as he struggled with his words.

“I saw your ad, and I –”

Any potential attraction immediately dropped from Bilbo’s mind, replaced by white-hot rage. “If you don’t have my bloody book bought and ready for me to sign,” Bilbo hissed, “I swear to Eru, I am going to _rip_ your beard out hair by hair!”

The man looked appropriately horrified, mouth opening and shutting before he turned around and left. Quite a few others in the line left as well, and Bilbo sighed a relief as he was finally, _finally_ , left with genuine fans.

In fact, Bilbo had all but forgotten the man who had faced the brunt of his anger until he saw a flash of long black waves. Sure enough, the man was soon standing in front of the novelist. His arms were laden with a pile of books, which he quickly dumped onto the table. Frowning, Bilbo flipped the disarrayed volumes over, jaw dropping as he saw, not only were they all brand new, but they were all _his_.

As he looked up, the man glowered down at him. Under his scruffy beard, his cheeks were tinged pink, but his narrowed eyes were fiercely determined.

“I have your books,” he said, voice deep and rough, and sweet Yavanna, was this some kind of torture?

Bilbo quickly righted himself, nose twitching as he quickly considered his options. “Well…” he drawled, forming a plan. “I don’t think you’ve even read these books, so why should I sign them for you?”

The man blinked, clearly thrown off, and Bilbo’s face spread into a triumphant grin. But then his lips pursed, arms crossing defiantly.

“I have read them. _All_ of them,” he claimed.

“Oh, really?” Bilbo countered, leaning back in his chair and copying the crossed arms. “What’s your favourite scene?”

“I’ll do you one better,” the handsome stranger vowed. “I will perform a dramatic reading of my favourite scene.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses as he waved the man to go ahead. Instead of backing down as Bilbo expected, the man picked up one of the books and flipped to a page with suspicious randomness.

“William sat down at the dinner table,” he began. “Awaiting him was a great feast, with roasted vegetables, lemon chicken, fresh rolls of bread, roasted rosemary leg of lamb, bow-bowlla…base.” The man’s confidence tapered off as he was confronted with the obviously foreign term.

“Fish soup,” Bilbo explained with a heavy sigh.

The man glanced up from the page, lips curling back in a grimace. “Fish soup,” he repeated, tone dripping with revulsion before continuing, “He had spent hours in the kitchen preparing, and now his hard work would finally pay off. William’s stomach grumbled as he began piling his plate, eager to eat.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bilbo cut in. The timbre of the man’s voice was far too alluring, making even a relatively dull scene seem tantalizing. “That’s obviously not your favourite scene.”

“Yes, it is!” the man insisted, snapping the book shut with a slam.

Bilbo huffed, deciding to play along. “Tell me why, then.”

The man gulped, running a hand through his long hair. A motion that Bilbo’s eyes certainly did not track.

“I connected with the guy, uh…” the man trailed off as he tried to surreptitiously peek at the back. “William. I connected with him on a deeply emotional level here.”

“Oh, really?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes.” The man nodded determinedly. “Eating is…very important to me.”

Bilbo couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter, hard enough to shake his frames. As the man gave an answering grin, Bilbo's stomach flipped uncomfortably.

“In fact,” the man continued, “It’s incredibly vital. If you would allow me to take you to dinner, we could discuss the importance of this scene further.”

Bilbo smirked as he pondered, considering the man once more. His large beakish nose somehow fit the sharp angles of his face, his smile lighting up his entire face. His eyes were a beautifully bright blue, tracking Bilbo’s gaze with growing uncertainty.

Without further thought, Bilbo grabbed the book from which the man had read, grinning as he scribbled his number on the inside of the cover.

“Call me,” he said.


	8. The Nerd Conversion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character A is an avid Star Wars fan and cannot believe that their significant other, Character B, has never seen any of the movies. Soon after, they set up a day for the two of them to watch all six movies, non-stop. Even though they are a very big fan of the series, Character A still tries to pull a “Netflix and Chill,” but they are torn between having some “nerdy sexy time” with Character B and immediately halting their cuddling activities to watch a very important scene…or at least point out the one storm trooper who hits his head on the door.

Bilbo Baggins did not want to stand in line at the midnight premiere of Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

He _needed_ to.

The only problem was, he didn’t know anyone who shared his passion. Whenever he mentioned something even remotely “nerdy” at work, all he received was silence and peculiar side-glances. But Bilbo was determined to see Star Wars the night it was released, and he wasn’t going alone.

While normally he respected the fact that Thorin, his boyfriend, had vastly different interests – most of the time, at least – desperate times called for desperate measures. Thus, Operation: Convert Thorin was born.

 

The first step was ensuring Thorin didn’t have any other plans for seven consecutive hours. It was actually quite simple – the upcoming Saturday had a forecast of heavy snowfall. Thorin wouldn’t have anything urgent, such as work, to go to. And he wouldn’t make any plans outside the house, either. And thus, when Bilbo suggested they “watch Netflix and chill,” he watched his dirty-minded boyfriend’s eyes light up excitedly.

Of course, Bilbo wasn’t lying. He just failed to mention what movies they would be watching.

 

“I am _not_ watching War Stars,” Thorin groaned from where he splayed out on the couch. They already had all they needed for a day of movie binge-watching – copious amounts of junk food, bottles of soda, and a couple of blankets to snuggle under.

“Yes, you are,” Bilbo declared, pressing the play button on the remote control. “You know this means a lot to me; I think you can handle one day of doing something for _me_ for once.”

“Why do you act like I’ve never done anything for you in my life?” Thorin snorted as he tugged Bilbo to his chest, bending to Bilbo’s will already.

As the iconic music started up, text floating across the star-covered background, Bilbo grinned excitedly. No matter how many times he watched these movies, it was like seeing them for the first time, all over again. He only wished he had seen all of them in theatre – sadly, Bilbo had only been able to Episode VI when it was first released, being eleven years-old at the time. But he wouldn’t let his youthful age stop him (yes, forty-three is perfectly youthful, thank you very much) from enjoying his all-time favourite movies.

And sharing this moment with his boyfriend, the love of his life, the man he would spend the rest of his life with – well, it was almost _magical_.

 

“How much longer?” Thorin bemoaned a total of… _twenty_ minutes into Episode IV.

“Quite a bit, now shut your trap!” Bilbo hissed, throwing a piece of air-popped corn at his boyfriends’ large nose.

“What’s with the Big Foot thing?”

“That is a Wookie! And his name is Chewbacca!”

Thorin rolled his eyes, huffing exasperatedly. “All he does is cry.”

“I’d like to see you co-pilot the Millennium Falcon!” Bilbo countered indignantly.

There was a moment of silence before Thorin grumbled, “He flies a _bird_?”

Bilbo took a deep, calming breath. “Just watch. The damn. Movie.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes watered as Obi-Wan sacrificed himself, killed by the very boy he had worked so hard to apprentice. Sniffling, he reached for the box of tissues he left on the table, just in case. Thoughtfully, he handed one back to his boyfriend, who blew his nose. Very loudly. Right in Bilbo’s ear.

 

Bilbo paused, jumping up from the couch and turning to Thorin with an excited grin. To his utter amazement, Thorin grinned back.

“Are we finally finished?”

Bilbo’s expression quickly morphed into a fierce glower. “No,” he managed between gritted teeth. “But I have it on good authority I do an amazing Yoda impression, and I was going to show you.” Sniffing delicately, he plopped back onto the couch, arms crossed.

Thorin took _far_ too long to speak, insisting at last – and quite half-heartedly, “Please, oh please, my dearest heart. Do your…yoga impression.”

“It’s Yoda!” Bilbo corrected, though he couldn’t hide his twitching lips. Nose wriggling, he concentrated, clearing his throat a few times before letting out a scratchy, deep baritone. “Found someone, you have, I would say, hmm?”

Thorin burst into laughter. Head falling back, he let out full guffaws, body shaking with the force of the apparent hilarity. His face soon became a bright red as he gasped for breath, slapping a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, hard enough to jar the smaller man.

“That – oh, Mahal. Can you – do it again?” he managed between gasping breaths before dissolving into another fit.

Someone would be sleeping on the couch tonight.

 

Bilbo should not have been surprised. He really, really shouldn’t have been – not anymore.

But he clung to Thorin’s arm, practically on the edge of his seat. Gasping as Luke’s arm was brutally cut off (and ignoring Thorin’s chuckles and comments of how _lame_ the special effects were), Bilbo literally held his breath, awaiting the famous line.

“No. _I_ am your father.”

Jaw dropping, Bilbo paused the movie and turned to Thorin, expecting _some_ form of surprise. Instead his boyfriend rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly.

“I could have guessed it,” Thorin said.

“No, you – you idiot, no you could not!” Bilbo yelled, turning back to the screen and pressing the play button with painful force.

 

When it was revealed that Leia was Luke’s twin sister, however, Thorin _finally_ reacted. He curled his lips, grumbling, “That’s gross.”

At least he was still paying attention.

 

Apparently the redemption of Anakin Skywalker was _lame_ and _predictable_.

“Of course he spends the past six hours trying to kill him, and then the moment someone else does, he rushes in to the rescue,” Thorin groused.


	9. A Stranger Amongst Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character A is out of this world…quite literally. They’re an alien from another planet that’s been sent to Earth in disguise as a normal student. Character A’s goal: find a suitable group of humans to take back to the home world for experimentation.

The first week of classes was always stressful, and Professor Baggins was already cursing his decision to go into teaching. Of course, as the semester went on, he would grow to appreciate his students, and graduation was always bittersweet. But for now, he was up to his ears in paperwork and confusion, with a bunch of students who were half interested, half contemplating dropping out already.

Bilbo’s nose twiddled as a figure walked towards him, long limbs stiff as if unused to such movement. The man’s long wavy hair and thick beard were quite clearly out of place, along with his attire. Though what precisely was wrong, Bilbo could not decide. But that did not matter – the man looked lost - wide, dull eyes glancing around from wall to ceiling to floor, over and over again.

“Good morning,” Bilbo greeted politely, stopping as he came close to the man.

The stranger blinked very slowly, eyes opening back up as though they wished to stay closed forever. “Yes,” the man responds quite belatedly, voice rough as though ill-used. “It would appear to be a good morning.”

“Right…” Bilbo trailed off, cocking his head as he considered the man. “Are you…lost?” he asked. “Can I help you find anything?”

“I am merely examining the premises,” the man said. “The waters need testing.”

“Oh!” But Bilbo frowned, more confused than ever. “You don’t look like a repair man.” As the words left his mouth, the professor deeply regretted them.

But the man seemed more perplexed than offended, thick eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly. “I am not here for repairs,” he said. “I am testing water.”

“You’re testing the waters, you mean,” he offered. The man nodded – a single, quick jerk of his chin.

Bilbo licked his lips, incredibly intrigued. The man’s speech was stilted and strange, and he misused a well-known phrase beyond what could simply be a misnomer. Yet he had no accent, no indication that English was not his first language.

“I will be leaving now,” the strange man declared before striding away. Bilbo turned around, watching. The man’s arms remained stiff at his sides, instead of swinging casually. His knees lifted and dropped rhythmically, as though he wore boots made of cement.

But then his gaze flitted to a clock on the nearby wall, and with a startled gasp, Bilbo was off once more.

 

Bilbo did not make a habit of passing through the cafeteria, but the kettle in the staff room was broken, and he was quite desperate. In a way, it seemed like fate. For sitting at one of the booths, all alone, was the man he had run into earlier that day.

The stranger sat with an incredibly stiff back as he stared into the crowded room. As Bilbo watched from afar, the man took a sip of the drink in front of him. Up the cup was brought to his lips, for a scant second, before being placed back on the table.

Not completely sure why, Bilbo found himself making his way towards the table. As he approached, the stranger looked up at him. His blue-grey eyes scanned up and down Bilbo’s form, scrutinizing. The professor flushed, feeling as though he was being put through some kind of test.

“Hullo again,” he greeted, giving a small, horribly awkward wave.

The man’s eyes flitted over to Bilbo’s upraised hand, tracking the movement. “Hello,” he repeated.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Bilbo asked, gesturing to the empty booth.

“Should I mind?” the man countered, though he seemed to be genuinely unsure.

Bilbo laughed nervously. “I should hope not!” he said. An awkward silence grew between them as the stranger went back to looking around the room, eyes darting about calculatingly. “I’m Bilbo, by the way,” he greeted.

The man’s eyes flitted back. “I am called Thorin,” he said.

“May I ask what field of study you’re in?”

Thorin gave another of those strange, jerking nods. “You may.”

Bilbo chuckled, though the sound died as he realized how serious Thorin was being. “Er, what field of study are you in, Thorin?”

The man’s head tilted to the side, ear almost touching his shoulder as he appeared to consider the question. “Human…development,” he responded vaguely.

Bilbo’s nose twitched as he wracked his brain, not noticing the way Thorin watched his wriggling appendage carefully. “I’m not familiar with such studies,” Bilbo confessed. “I’m just a linguistics professor,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Nothing ever changes. Sometimes I’m quite out of the loop, as it were, with these new-age courses.”

“I study people,” Thorin stated, staring into Bilbo’s eyes.

The professor gulped, transfixed momentarily. The man, however eccentric, was incredibly handsome. Blue-grey eyes with dark, angular features. He was like a puzzle, and Bilbo wanted desperately to solve him.

“I would meet you again,” Thorin said, the first time he had spoken unprompted. “If you are receptive.”

“Of course!” Bilbo exclaimed, shocked by his own enthusiasm.

Thorin, strangely enough, did not seem surprised. “We will meet in the back field at four hours past noon, two days from now,” he instructed, rising from his chair and walking off without another word.

 

Bilbo was meant to meet Thorin on Wednesday, as it were. But his class ran unexpectedly late, and by the time he arrived, Thorin was gone. The professor was quite disappointed for long days after, bemoaning his own stupidity. He looked often for Thorin, but the eccentric man was nowhere to be found.

He even asked around, and as it turned out, “human development” was not a program offered at the university – nor any other university. But Bilbo’s confusion and disappointment was soon forgotten in the wake of the university’s biggest scandal ever.

Fourteen first-year students had gone missing without a trace.

The puzzle Bilbo was itching to solve would never be answered, even when the pieces were sitting right in front of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were, a couple more prompts to be filled - but I could never find inspiration for them, so I'm going to end these here :))

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit and chat with me on tumblr under the same name :)


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